


Rondelay

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 03:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: What is it called, 'a perfect storm'?  A rare convergence of unpredictable events leading to an unexpected outcome?  Usually it was applied to a particularly negative occurrance, but in this case?  Puzzling, certainly but perhaps not so negative.Three young girls enjoying a night of music.  Ten years into the future, a desperate struggle to combat Hitler and his forces.   A rondelay, sung in three parts.  Some accidental spillover of Clan power.  Results - a perfect storm





	Rondelay

The singing had been going on ever since dinner, and it brought a smile to Lupan's face. What brought an even bigger smile was the reemergence of his Felane from her seclusion in the meditation/work room; she'd been there since late afternoon, well before dinner, leaving it to the older children to manage that family necessity. He was used to her doing that, when the calling came to her, but it always took so much out of her. {"Sometimes a Gift can have its drawbacks too,"} he pondered.

"And is it well? You look like you're about to fall on your face from exhaustion. I was worried when you went past the three hour mark; I wanted to drag you away, but I know that's not always a good idea." 

He hurried to bring her the small plate containing the little bit he knew she could stomach after a long session of Far-Seeing. It would be hours before she totally returned to her pre-session self.

Felane laughed softly, "no, actually it's NEVER a good idea! How was dinner, and where is everyone?" sinking down into her chair gratefuly.

"Oh, the boys are in the kennels with the new puppies, and Ciena along with them. Caeide and Meghada and Cally are off harmonizing. I think Cally brought a few new ones with her - take a listen," gesturing toward the rear of the house.

Felane listened, nodded, "yes, I've not heard that one before, I think. They do well together, don't they?"

Lupan made the mistake of stroking his hand over her head, only to pull away quickly when sparks arose. They never left a mark, but they did sting.

"Sorry, my love. It was a deeper session than usual, and I think part is still with me. Best give me a little time before you try that again," she admitted ruefully.

Well, he'd known better, truly; it was just hard to see her there, so weary, and not be free to touch her, offer some comfort.

She knocked on the door to the room the three girls were using and stuck her head in. "You need to stop and get some sleep now. We've an early morning, you know."

There were goodnatured grumbles, and a plea for "just one more, please? Cally brought one we liked singing straight through, but I think it will do even better as a rondelay - perhaps not quite the traditional style, but something close. Please?" Meghada, the true song-writer among them begged. They all loved music, but for Meghada, it was a force deep within her insisting that she USE it, do MORE with it, CREATE what had not been before.

"Oh, very well. If you don't mind, I'll give a listen as well," Felane chuckled as she stepped in, reaching down to caress each mass of curling red hair and drop a kiss on each upturned smiling face as well. 

"Ouch!" Meghada exclaimed. "Long session, mum? You're giving off sparks!"

"Too long, perhaps, if that's still happening so close to bedtime," Caeide teased. "Poor Da! Gives 'sparking' a whole new meaning!"

"Hush with the silliness, and get on with your song," Felane scolded them with a smile. 

And they did, and the rondelay was, as Meghada had promised, quite lovely, and just a bit different than the usual. Felane watched, puzzled, as flickering sparks seemed to hang in the air, moving in some rhythm of their own as the girls wove the verses and repeating chorus in and out.

*Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be  
While the Vistula is flowing  
By the green oak tree  
While the Vistula is flowing  
By the green oak tree*

{"Perhaps it WAS too long a session; I've never seen the after effects connect with any of the children like that."} and she found that a little worrisome. And the song itself had seemed to have taken on a life of its own, {"more like an incantation than a simple folk song,"} she though with just a bit of uneasiness, that unease increasing as the effect seemed to increase as well with each ever-more-complicated interweaving of the voices, til the tiny flickers were creating an equally complicated dance around the three.

Still, by the time they finished the song, the last repeat of the chorus tapering off to less than a whisper, the sparks, and the odd mood that had settled upon her, had died away, and she went on her way to share sparks of a different nature with her Lupan, putting her reaction to the girls' music down to just part of the jittery aftermath that sometimes came after a session of Far-Seeing.

Each of the three girls went to sleep with the chorus of the rondelay replaying in their heads, (Tell Me Who I'll Marry, Tell Me Who He'll Be), over and over and over. Even Cally noted the incongruence of that lingering so. {"Not that the Clan does all that much marrying, as such, but it didn't seem proper to totally revamp the Outlander song, and that would have thrown the rhyming off, and really wasn't necessary for our enjoyment in the singing of it."}

MEGHADA O'Donnell seemed to walk in her dreams, through a terrain she'd never seen before, til finally she came to where she knew she was intended to be. There were cliffs surrounding her, and in the distance the sound of cannon fire and guns. She shuddered in the darkness, wondering if she was totally alone and why she was here. 

Then she wasn't alone, not exactly. There were five others, men in rough clothing, laboring, bringing down box after box, armload after armload of rifles and much else, all from the dark cliffs, down a steep path that didn't warrant the honor of such a name. {"More a wide goat-track, to my mind."}

Now she was sitting on the big rock next to the cobbled-together fire pit, watching. She'd been there some time, though with no idea how she'd gotten there, or why she was there either. They couldn't seem to see her, these five men, so she was free to look her fill. They held her interest, enough to distract her from how unlike her usual self she felt. {"Almost like I'm me, but not the me I usually am,"} she thought, even while realizing how truly ODD a thought that was. She had a feeling if she looked in a mirror, not that there was such a thing anywhere around, she'd not quite be as she'd been when she'd looked that morning.

Now she was focused on the slightest of the group, a frown of concern on her face. 

He was breathing hard and fast, in fact gulping for air, his chest heaving. She thought he'd be better off saving what air he had, not use it talking, but obviously he felt an even stronger need to express his deep and sincere disapproval of their current endeavors. 

"Every ruddy time 'e gets one of 'is notions anymore, we end up in the muck! Think we need to put a word in that it's time for another job that involves nice 'otels and regular meals! Could put up with all this a lot better knowing next time out we won't be scraping mud out of our ears and elsew'ere! But no, not likely 'e'll listen. Seems NO one listens, not really. Wouldn't that be something, to be saying w'at's important to you and actually 'aving someone listen like it matters w'at you think?! Right, Goniff, might as well be wishing for three square meals a day of decent food, plenty of 'ot water, a soft bed for sleeping in. Aint never 'ad all that, not at one spell of time; not likely ever to. Still, you'd think we could get 'im to LISTEN, just once!"

This was his third trip, the same with the others, at least the third since she'd been here. From the pile alongside the far edge of the shadows when she'd arrived, though, she knew they had already been at their task for some time before she got there.

She'd started out watching them all - the taller blond man who seemed to be in charge, the tall dark man with the Italian accent, the young man who had the look and feel of the tribes about him, and the gruff more muscular one with the wavy hair, along with the smaller blond. The others were quieter, though the one with dark wavy hair had shared his own set of complaints about the conditions, using terms that were unfamiliar to her and probably for very good reason.

Gradually, though, her attention was drawn solely to the smaller blond, the one with what she found to be a very intriguing manner of speech. Her eyes followed his movements, watching them change from swift and controlled, to increasingly faltering. Well, that was understandable. They'd all made SO many trips into the cliffs and back again, lugging boxes and armsful of rifles, along with much else less identifiable.

He was stumbling now, even the muttering under his breath having gone by the wayside in the effort to conserve energy. He had his hands full, jerking, shaking his head, trying to get his filthy blond hair back out of his eyes, off his sweaty forehead, but to no avail. Part of that stumbling was due to the sweat running into his eyes, his soaking hair helping to blind him, but part was just simple fatigue and the unstable rocky path under his feet.

{"He's going to throw his neck out of joint if he keeps that up,"} she thought with some concern, {"or take a serious misstep and hurt himself that way,"} watching him put his head and neck through some odd contortion once again trying to shake his hair back as he stumbled yet again, and when he reached the bottom of the slope it was without any conscious thought that she moved closer and gently pushed his hair back out of his eyes, then wiping the sweat away with her sleeve, getting her first really good look at his hazy blue eyes.

She realized that probably wasn't the accepted thing during this, whatever the heck this WAS, as he gasped, dropped his bundle, and looked around frantically, trying to figure out what had just happened.

"Hey, Goniff, you alright?" came from the dark haired young man making his way forward down the path with another load.

"Blimey, this place 'as me imagining things, it does!" the smaller blond exclaimed, picking up that armful, moving it next to the campsite with the rest of the growing pile, brushing thoughtfully at his forehead, his hair. 

"Coulda sworn . . ." He flushed, "eh, never mind, Chiefy. Just my imagination; 'as to be!"

Just as that light caress to his hair HAD to be his imagination, after he'd finally been given permission to tuck down into the crumpled blankets. Never mind what felt an awful lot like someone giving him a light kiss on his cheek. And that faint hint of a song in the air, one he couldn't hear the words for, but the voice was soft and low, and the melody was sweetly haunting, and somehow, promised him things he had never dared dream of.

And in the night, as he moved restlessly from one side to the other, Meghada stayed close, her mind never stopping in her habit of making lists, something her family teased her about so much. 

{"Some decent food at frequent intervals. It certainly looks like he could use that. Well, all of them, but him most of all. Hot water, yes, there's nothing quite like a long hot bath after a long day."}. 

She moved back quickly as he made another restless move, coming within a hair's breadth of rolling into her; she wouldn't have minded, but she figured it would probably wake him up totally, and he needed his sleep. 

{"A soft bed, probably quite a big one considering how much he moves in his sleep. And someone to listen? Ah, I think that would be very pleasant, sitting and listening to him talk, tell me things about himself, who he is, what he's thinking. I think I would like that very much." 

And in the back of her mind, as she faded into the night, she heard the melody of that song, the chorus anyway, playing over and over again. (Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be.)

CALLY and CAEIDE O'Donnell sat side by side cross-legged on a top bunk in the chilly room that smelled of mold and unwashed bodies. The source of the mold was evident by the dark patches on the walls, especially near the roof-line. The other smells, well, neither the men or their clothing looked like they'd been accustomed to frequent freshening. Except for one.

He was ever so handsome in his officer's uniform, his hair dark and clean and shining while the hair of the others was grimy and lank. He was more fit as well, and the girls got the impression he'd perhaps been eating at least a little better than the others, who ranged from muscular but below their proper weight to downright gaunt.

Girls. Somehow, neither seemed quite that, not here, not now. A quick glance at each other confirmed; nope, not girls, not any longer - definitely grown up women.

Caeide found herself humming that last song, at least the chorus, since the verses didn't lend themselves so much to that form. (Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be.)

Cally gave her a curious sideways glance, but didn't join in. Somehow, it just didn't seem right; seemed as if it would be infringing on her cousin's perogative.

"Gov, do we really 'ave to take out that factory tonight? That's three jobs in a row, and it'll take the whole bleedin night to get there, get the job done, and be back in time for roll call! Can't keep going without some sleep, and we bloody well can't get any of that during the day, not with the guards poking you and insisting you 'rous, rous' everytime you so much as sit down."

The speaker was one of those on the decidedly gaunt ends of the spectrum. He was also obviously English, both his accent and his uniform telling them that. What wasn't so obvious was why he caught at Caeide's eyes, pulled them away from the other men, held them once there.

His eyes, perhaps that was it. His eyes were such a wonderful blue-green that Caeide thought she could happily gaze into them forever. Oh, he had good bone structure, had probably been handsome before life and events had taken their toll. Now, though, he looked like he needed a year in one of those camps where they used to send children with heart problems or weak lungs. Someplace where he could be fed proper meals and cossetted properly. 

{"Wish I could take him home to Mum; she'd get him back to rights well enough, like she does with the other 'pets' she brings home."}. She smiled, thinking of the uproar if SHE came trailing home in the morning with this particular 'pet' with her.

Almost as if in answer to her thoughts, though, he showed how he would probably take to that.

"No, Louie, I DON'T want any of that bloody cas-oo-lay you cobbled together! Bloody French cooking! Bloody KRAUT cooking, for that matter! Blimey, w'at I wouldn't give for some decent food, maybe a nice homity pie, or a pastie or two, some nice bangers and mash. This bloody country! They got potatoes and cabbages, they got onions, they got sausages - they can't put them together to something worth getting yourself around - maybe a nice bubble n'squeak or a big plate of bangers and mash like I keep asking for and never get??"

A small Frenchman slid over, laid his hand up against the Englishman's forehead, which was only within easy reach since said forehead was now dipping toward the wooden table in the center of the room.

"Mon colonel, the fever, it is returning."

"Get yer bloody 'ands away, Louie! Stop fussing! Don't recall giving you leave to go touching me whenever you take a mind to," came the quarrelsome response, but the voice giving it wasn't near as strong as it had been before, was more fretful than truly angry.

"Newkirk, can you hold it together for a few more hours? We need you and your magic fingers to work that safe at the factory before we blow it! I know you've been teaching Olsen, but you say he's not ready . . ."

The officer's voice was a combination of worry and impatience, with annoyance riding the two other emotions hard for dominance.

Newkirk raised his head, face crumpled in protest. "Colonel 'ogan, sir, with respect, Olsen is trying, but 'e just aint got the touch for that safe; doubt 'e ever will. Something like that, it's more instinct than aught else. Don't even know if I can open the bloody thing, but I've got more of a chance than anyone else 'ere. But it's on the bleeding fourth floor, no way to it except up the outside wall, and that wall got the better of me last time. Can't we just blow up the ruddy place? Maybe next week?" he asked hopefully.

"No, we can't. Well, if Olsen isn't up to the job, then you're it, Newkirk. I'll see if Wilson has any aspirin left; that should help," and with that he left through the barracks door. It probably wasn't an errand an officer would normally undertake, but it was after hours and the guards were more likely to let him through, and the tunnel to the infirmary had undergone a slight mishap, rendering it temporarily unfit for use.

The men stared at the door, then Newkirk straightened, glanced over at the Frenchman and said with a sardonic expression, "see, Louie. No call to go fretting after me; Colonel's gonna get me an aspirin."

Louie frowned, and reached out to pull up the blue top of Newkirk's uniform to look at the equally blue and purpled area below. "For the fever, perhaps it will help. The broken ribs? Ah la, those I do not think will be aided so much."

That got another quick frown, "don't go telling 'im about the ribs, Louie! Then for sure 'e'll be trying to send Colin 'ere, and that bloody well just won't do the trick."

The small Frenchman bridled at the order. "And just how are you to get to that fourth floor, mon ami? He intends for you to scale that wall, like you tried before. If you could not manage it then, how do you think to manage it with broken ribs??"

Newkirk turned glum, "wish I could get a good look at that wall in the daylight! They'd done some trick with the pattern of the bricks, something odd. Can't rightly tell w'ere your next 'and'old should be, and even w'en you think you're on target, you can't get a bloody good grip. Never come up against anything quite like it, and I've been up and down the sides of more buildings than I can count. If I could just SEE it, Louie, I'm sure I could figure it out!"

Hogan was back, the aspirin administered.

"Look, guys, I know it's bad timing in some ways. But, look at it this way. With that Russian woman here in Klink's quarters, with the guys in charge of that factory right beside her, you have that many fewer people between you and the objective. And Kinch, YOU don't take any chances that anyone can catch sight of you. I wouldn't send you out there, but I have to be over there, schmoozing Klink and his guests, and LeBeau has to be present and accounted for too."

Hogan seemed a little distracted by his straightening his uniform, running a brush over his hair. He was due over in Klink's quarters any minute now. He turned to the Frenchman, "speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be there putting the finishing touches on the dinner, LeBeau? We don't want Klink or Olbermeier sending anyone over here looking for you. And, LeBeau, keep to the kitchen til it's time to serve dinner, and keep to business the WHOLE time. Leave the woman alone!"

Well, for some reason, no matter how evidence pointed to what he'd called 'that Russian woman' being all manner of disreputable and untrustworthy things, the little Frenchman had developed what some might call a crush, or what Newkirk called "a bloody ridiculous obsession" with Marya Parmanova.

Soon three men headed down a black hole that was revealed when one of the bunks was lifted - Newkirk, and two others, ones who'd been addressed as Olsen and Kinch. 

Caeide whispered, "I'm going after them. What about you?"

Cally shook her head, "no, I need to be . . ." her voice trailing off. She wasn't sure WHERE she needed to be, but she would trust to the Sweet Mother to send her in that direction. Her cousin seemed to understand, and just nodded as she slipped into that hole just before the bunk came back into position, hiding all evidence of the opening.

CAEIDE stayed about five yards behind the three men, not sure it really mattered since they obviously couldn't see her, but she didn't want them stopping suddenly and her plowing into them. That they just MIGHT notice.

It was a long trek, enough she wondered just where this factory was located! Finally, after slipping through a cut wire fence, they all stood at the base of a tall building. Newkirk inhaled deeply, "well, 'ere it goes, mates. Best not be standing right underneath; 'ate to land on you and muss your 'air."

The other two men exchanged a worried look. That didn't sound like their sometimes annoyingly-cocky teammate. That heavy film of sweat on the Englishman's forehead didn't bode well for his making it up to the fourth floor.

"Look, maybe we should just . . ." Olsen started, only to find a snarling Newkirk looking directly at him.

"We should just w'at, Olsen?? Colonel says that bloody safe 'as got to be opened; that this w'ole bloody place 'as to be blown sky 'igh. Well, unless you intend to set those charges, 'ave them go off and let me ride the blast up to the fourth floor, I've got to get up this bloody, bloody wall!"

His voice was ragged, desperation just barely below the surface.

Caeide looked up at the wall. {"Yes, I can see what they've done, the trick to the thing. Though how they managed that slant to the outer edge to some of the bricks I don't know. Must have been quite a job, whether tapering them by hand or rigging a special mold. And those places where the pattern breaks without warning. That would throw any climber off. Oooohhh, I wish I could show him what I see, what he has to be able to see, to know, to make that climb!"}

A warm voice in the back of her head chided her. *"Well, if it's that important, child, then you simply have to SHOW him. You're a smart lass, you can figure it out."*

Newkirk was starting the climb, the other two separating to lay the charges that would collapse the entire building when the Englishman (hopefully) returned.

Caeide dashed forward, grabbing the handholds and scurried upward. She was close enough that her arm brushed against his, and whenever that happened she could sense his surprise. 

"Blimey, I can see it! Why the bloody 'ell couldn't I see it before??!" he muttered to himself, and she realized that that little touch was illuminating the pattern. No, not enough to be visible to those on the ground, but to him, only inches away, quite clearly.

It was not a comfortable climb, those broken ribs hindering his normal reach, but he was making progress. Now she made sure she was touching more often than not, no more than a feather might, but giving him the best view she could. 

Her fingers were aching, the rough edges of the brick abrading them to where she wouldn't be surprised to find them bleeding later. Her shoulders ached too; this was as hard as climbing the cliffs at Haven, and she'd never ever attempted that in the dark.

Finally they reached the shuttered window to the room where the safe was reputed to be, and he reached for the tool in his pocket to slip the fastening. They swung open, and he lifted the sash and pulled himself through, her following before he could shut it behind him.

"Alright, my pretty. Just w'ere . . .? Ah, yes," he smiled as he spotted the really awful painting, a bad reproduction of a Dutch master depicting a pinched faced matron in lace, on the side wall, "there you are, you lovely thing, you. Come to Peter, my sweet. Gentle as can be, I am, nothing rough from me, I promise you! See, even blew on my fingers and all, got them nice and warm, just for you! Let me touch you, stroke you, find all your little 'idden secrets, all those delicate little places you fancy being touched. Ahh, that's right, talk to me, love; tell me w'en I've got it just right," he smiled with appreciation as he leaned his cheek lovingly against the cold metal as his fingers worked the mechanism.

Caeide listened, watched his face, that alluring smile, a widening grin coming to her face. {"Bless him, if he talks to a safe like that, can you imagine him wooing a lover??! I can almost hear that matron whimpering with eagerness from way over here. 'Yes, Peter, right there! Oh, yes, there!! OOOHH! OOOOOHHHHH!!'"}. 

She refrained from giggling at the mental image of that safe trembling under his sure fingers, and when the door to the safe swung open, she could almost hear the tiny metal gasp of completion, of utter fulfillment. She was almost expecting to see a relaxed, even sated smile on the face of that Dutch matron, and was rather surprised not to find it so.

A quick glance, then the hurried transfer of certain documents to his inner pocket, and he was back to the window, leaving the safe door gaping wide. Caeide looked at him with a certain amount of disapproval, {"seems a little rude, just leaving like that, without even a 'thanks for the tumble, pet'"}, only to chuckle to herself when he hesitated, turned back, walked over to carefully close the safe door, patting it gently. 

"T'was grand, sweetheart, truly it was. I've never 'ad better, you know, none sweeter or more eager, more willing to give me w'at I needed in return. I'm sorry for w'at 'as to come next, I truly am. I'll never forget you, I promise," he offered, before he dashed back to the window, Caeide following after, shaking her head in delight at that last farewell. 

{"He even makes a quick goodbye after an even quicker toss seem endearing! Of course, could be he's had plenty of practice; I'd not be surprised!"} and took a quick glance back at that matron's face. Some trick of the angle had brought a wistful smile to that previously grim face, and Caeide nodded in wry understanding. {"Aye, one like that can make up for a lot of grimness, I'd think."}

When the explosion took down the building and the area surrounding it, Caeide thought it just might have dimmed in comparison to the previous one that Dutch matron had experienced, and decided {"well, at least she left happy."}. She hastened to catch up to the three men making their weary, if triumphant, way back to that cold barracks where she'd first encountered them, smiling at the chorus sounding softly in the back of her mind. (Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be.)

CALLY sat, the feeling that she was to be somewhere else, not here, ever deepening. When one of the guards stuck his heads in, not far enough to count the men, thankfully, just a prefunctory glance and a quick "ya, ya, they are all there, Sergeant," she slipped out before he could close the door.

"Though where they were supposed to GO, I do not know. Still, check them we must, no matter how much better to stay in our own barracks and keep warm," the man muttered to himself.

Cally looked around, and made her way toward the lighted window on the far side of the compound. {"This must be the Kommandant's quarters, where they are eating dinner,"} she mused, stepping up onto the raised porch, that chorus murmuring softly to her. (Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be.) 

A heavy-set man made his ponderous way out the door just as she got there, turning and giving an awkward bow. 

"Yes, Herr Kommandant. Of course, right away, Herr Olbermeier, Herr Kommandant," and she slipped in, just barely hearing his resentful words as he shut the door and moved away, "and if there is anything else I can do, Herr Kommandant, please do not hesitate to send someone to wake me for the FOURTH time. Perhaps Herr Olbermeier would like for me to polish his . . ." him stepping too far away for her to hear the remainder of that barely-whispered retort. That was probably just as well.

The sudden light blinded her for a moment. Or, perhaps it was not the light, nor the glittering of the glassware or the gleaming plates. Perhaps it was the vision lounging on the sofa at the far side of the room. Cally got an impression of a tumbled mass of auburn hair, pouting lips, sly cat-like eyes, and a body as lush as a rose-garden in full summer bloom. 

{"If this is Marya, I am not surprised the Frenchman is enthralled! I cannot imagine any man NOT being so, not around her!"}

But it seemed that was not the case. Oh, Herr Olbermeier was certainly sticking close, his arm possessively over the back of the sofa, his eyes warning the other men off. But it seemed he didn't have to do much warning. 

The Kommandant, a weedy fellow with an encroaching bald spot and monocle, seemed nervous of her, indeed almost afraid. The other German, one in a Colonel's uniform, seemed irritated by the display being presented, even somewhat bored. Cally had to wonder just what WOULD have titilated his interest, if not the vision of loveliness presenting itself here. Then, looking at the hard lines of his face, the flicker of cruelty in his eyes, she decided she was probably better off knowing.

It was the prisoner, Colonel Hogan who surprised her. {"You would think he would be drooling - a woman as lovely and sensual as that - here, where any woman would probably be a rarity. But he's not. He's angry, underneath that congenial smile, and resentful, and suspicious."}

She looked at the Russian again. {"And she is, underneath all that cat-like grace, not nearly so relaxed as she appears; in fact, deep down she is tense with anticipation, as well as being slightly amused at the reactions she is getting."}. 

Cally wanted to go, sit next to Marya, look into those lovely eyes and whisper, "tell me your secrets, beautiful one! Let me share what you are thinking, feeling!"

And in the background of her mind, the chorus started murmuring again, (Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be).{"He? No, I think not. And I think I don't need to be told 'who', either, for that much is clear. I believe I am looking at that one right now."}

At that moment, LeBeau dashed into the room. "The dinner is ready and must be served immediately to be at its best," not even looking at anyone else in the room, his eyes only on Marya. Odd, while Cally was finding herself resenting Herr Olbermeier with his arm so close to Marya, she found herself in surprising comradeship with the Frenchman, found herself smiling in total understanding approval when he hastened to hold a chair for her, quickly unfold her napkin, completely ignoring the others til a quick clearing of the throat from Hogan and a crisp comment from the German Colonel brought his attention back to them. 

And so it was throughout the dinner, Marya getting the best of everything, the most of LeBeau's attention, only frequent reminders causing him to pull back and attend to the others. 

{"He needs to watch that; the Colonel is looking annoyed. Well, both of them, actually. Herr Olbermeier is oblivious; she has him totally wrapped around her little finger. The Kommandant - now that is interesting. HE is looking like he is waiting for a bomb to explode. I wonder why."}

It was not a bomb, it was the telephone that brought the evening to a rapid end. The call had at its other end a frantic lieutenant who could barely be heard over the noise in the background, the sirens and such. Olbermeier and the German Colonel disappeared, seeming to forget about the Russian who watched them roar off, waving them a melancholy farewell. Klink disappeared back inside, intent on pouring himself a very, VERY large glass of schnapps, while Hogan, Marya and LeBeau stood on the front porch watching the gates close behind that staff car.

Hogan turned to Marya, venting about how every time she showed up, there was turmoil - that he wished she would find someone ELSE to torment!

"But, Hogan, daarrrlling! You wound me, to the very soul!" Marya proclaimed, emoting in a manner that would have been the envy of any of the greatest theatrical actresses. "You did not appreciate that I caused Olbermeier to be here, tonight, so that you could arrange for the disappearance of those papers? The ones I am quite sure are, or soon will be, in your possession? Nor that I also brought the ever-so-suspicious Colonel as well, that he might know for himself that you were here at the very moment that factory exploded and thus could have had absolutely nothing to do with it? Ah, it is a harsh world, with little appreciation for the great efforts I put forth! Yes, I have always known that, but YOU, Hogan! YOU I thought would appreciate what I have accomplished, and just for you!!" 

In the end she shrugged, hugged a beaming LeBeau close to her, almost smothering him in her fur-covered bosom. Not so surprisingly, he didn't seem to mind one little bit. 

"Well, I must be off. There will be a car coming for me momentarily. Farewell, Hogan daarrlling. And you, my dear little von. Til we meet again!" and she was gone in a flurry of fur and perfume, into a car that had just pulled in through the gates and stopped in front of the steps.

Cally wanted nothing so much as to slide into that car and drive away with that lush beauty, but knew the time was not now.

Caeide was perched on that top bunk again when Cally rejoined her.

"Have an interesting time?" Cally whispered? "I did, that's for certain. Remember the song?" and from the slow smile on her cousin's face she knew. Her eyes showed her shared pleasure, "ah, you too, I see. I won't ask; it doesn't feel right somehow. But, oh Caeide!"

"Shh, the Colonel!" Oh, they didn't worry that he would hear them, not if he hadn't so far, nor seen them either. But he looked like he was getting ready to deliver a lecture and they found themselves eager to hear just what the officer had to say.

Turns out it was a great deal of scolding of the Frenchman for "fawning over that woman! Didn't I say to ignore her?? We don't need any more trouble!"

And the success of his other men seemed to elicit an odd combination of satisfaction and rather snide taunting of the Englishman in the group about being able to manage things THIS time well enough, "even WITH a fever, it seems. What went wrong LAST time? Why was THIS time different? You need to be more consistent if I'm to depend on you!"

Newkirk had flushed, knowing he really had no idea why he was able to see the tricks and turns of that wall so easily tonight when he hadn't before. Kinch quickly interceded, "Colonel, last time there was no light, none. Tonight, there was enough moonlight coming at just the right angle where you could just catch a glimpse of the odd traps they built into that thing."

Newkirk nodded gratefully, thankful he'd explained to Kinch and Olsen about those oddly shaped bricks, the missing pieces to the usual pattern, the odd gaps. No, it hadn't been the moonlight, he knew that, but it was better than a vague "could just SEE it this time." That would only bring demands that he 'SEE' it every bloody time, and he didn't think that was going to happen.

Hogan did seem to accept that, and soon made his way to his own quarters, closing the door behind him.

The men quickly got ready to take advantage of the few hours they had left before roll call.

"Ei, Kinch?" Newkirk whispered in the darkness.

"Yeah, Pete?"

"Thanks, mate."

A warm chuckle came in reply. "You got it. Go to sleep now."

Caeide whispered to Cally, "you know, I don't think I much like this Colonel Hogan."

"Can't say I'm any too fond of him myself," Cally replied, just as the air shifted around them and they faded away, to awaken at daybreak in the room they were sharing at Caeide's home.

"Sleep well, my loves?" Felane asked at the breakfast table. The others all gave her hearty smiles and nods. Except for the three singers, who seemed a little more reluctant.

"Well enough, mum. But I had an odd dream, though I can't seem to remember it now," Meghada confessed. 

Cally and Caeide gave Meghada a startled look, then looked at each other. 

Caeide confessed, "seems to have been the night for odd dreams. Wish I could remember mine; I think it was a particularly nice one - at least parts of it." 

Cally nodded in agreement. "It seems not overly fair, you know. If they say dreams can come true, don't you think it would be easier if you could REMEMBER the dreams?"

Felane looked at the three, remembering that song, the odd feeling she'd gotten, those dancing sparks. 

"Well, maybe in time you'll remember, my dears. And if they were all nice dreams, then I hope they DO come true for you," she told them.

The three looked thoughtful, with an expression that said they were ALMOST remembering, at least some small fragments.

"Me too, mum. Me too," Meghada said, getting brisk nods of agreement from her older sister and cousin. "Think it would be lovely were that to happen!"

Note: Yes, I know Judy Collins wrote and sang the song 'Tell Me Who I'll Marry' many years after when the girls supposedly worked it into a round. However, it was what I'd just been listening to when the muse delivered this story. (Judy Collins - album 'Golden Apples of the Sun') I've always found the song interesting, in that the chorus is rather haunting in its melody, while the verses are staccato, almost as if there's three things going on - a girl musing to herself rather wistfully (in the chorus), someone giving her 'sound advice' and her equally 'sound' reasons for not taking that advice making up the verses. And I can easily hear it as a round, especially if the girls ever get a few more of their family to join in the singing.

Song, as I envision them singing it:  
(Chorus - repeated every two verses)  
Tell me who I'll marry, tell me who he'll be  
While the Vistula is flowing  
By the green oak tree  
While the Vistula is flowing  
By the green oak tree

Here's a builder come to woo you  
No one can build a house like he can  
Fondly he tells you that he loves you  
As he loves his houses

I would wed my builder  
But I'm sorry for my handsome weaver  
I would wed my builder but  
I'm sorry for my handsome weaver

(Chorus)

Here's a weaver come to woo you  
Weaving a garland with his fingers  
Fondly he tells you that he loves you  
As he loves his weaving

I would wed my weaver  
But I'm sorry for my handsome turner  
I would wed my weaver but  
I'm sorry for my handsome turner

(Chorus)

Here's a turner come to woo you  
All round his length the sparks are showering  
Fondly he tells you that he loves you  
As he loves his capstan

I would wed my turner  
But I have someone else to give my heart to  
I would wed my turner but  
I've someone else to give my heart to

(Chorus, repeated again and again, ever softer each time)


End file.
